He smiled.
Chapter Ten
THEY REACHEDRAIVA’SWELL JUST AS THEsun was beginning to sink in the west, sending long blue shadows across the desert. Eda’s guard had caught up to them by then, and she dismounted and handed him her reins without a word. Ileem followed suit and went to stand beside her.
Raiva’s Well was deceptively simple on the surface: an octagonal dome with a metal spire on top shaped like a tree. Somehow the metal was untarnished by age; it flashed and danced in the slanting rays of the sun. The dome itself was supported by eight marble columns, the designs once carved into the stone worn away now by sand and time. As Eda and Ileem drew near, a set of narrow steps came into view. They spiraled down to the next level: a stone floor and another eight pillars. More steps led down to the next level, and the next. Eda couldn’t see how many levels there were—the bottom of the well was swallowed up in darkness.
She’d come prepared with lanterns and oil, and she filled and lit two, handing one to Ileem and keeping the other for herself. They descended into the well as the last of the sunlight slipped beyond the horizon.
Eda felt very much like she was being swallowed, climbing down and down into the earth as the sky grew ever farther away. The air became increasingly cooler as they went on; the sweat dried on her face and arms, and she began to shiver. The stairs were not wide enough for two, so Ileem came just behind her. His lantern light mingled with hers, sending shadows spinning wildly, making her feel as though a thousand dead souls were dancing round them as they continued their descent.
And then suddenly they were at the bottom of the well, a simple bare room, twenty feet square, with a shallow pool of water in the very center. Wax drippings lay mounded all about the pool, and the water itself was thick with coins. It was more than a little disappointing, less impressive than the sacred pool just outside the city.
Still, she’d come all this way. Perhaps appearances were deceiving.
Eda paced around the room, lifting her lantern high, while Ileem came quietly behind her. She studied the carvings in this last set of eight pillars: birds and beasts marched round them in endless loops, with trees between rows. There were three empty sockets in the center of each pillar where jewels might once have been set to represent the original three Stars.
Other than that, there was nothing down here but dust.
Eda knelt beside the fountain with a frustrated huff, and Ileem knelt beside her. It was strange and almost unsettling to have him there, to not be alone in her supplication to the gods. She drew out her pouch of ashes and oil and smeared part on her forehead and part against the edge of the pool, then handed the pouch to Ileem, who did the same. She cut her palm with her dagger, a new wound to join the one that was barely scabbed, and let her blood drip into the water. Dimly she was aware of Ileem slicing into the map of scars on his own palm, of his blood spilling out to mix with hers. She stared at her reflection, her dark eyes and shadowed hair, mingled strangely in the lantern light with the coins mounded under the surface. She wondered how many supplicants had come here, how many had left empty-handed. Beside her, Ileem closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer.
“Raiva,” said Eda quietly to the water, “hear my supplication.” She shut her eyes, too, and crouched back on her heels, waiting, the cut in her palm pulsing like a second heartbeat.
She didn’t expect anything to happen.
But a light touch on her shoulder made her start and turn. A tall, tall woman stood there, her hair mingled strands of beech-tree white and ash-tree brown, bits of shimmering jewels flashing on her forehead. Her skin was dappled, like sunlight through forest leaves. She was dressed simply, in a white robe girded with a violet cord, and her eyes were very dark.
Eda stared, so startled she nearly tumbled backward into the water.
But the woman came forward, took her hand, drew her to her feet. Up close she was several heads taller than Eda. Eda gaped up at her, unconsciously pulling her hand away.
“What is it you would ask of me, daughter of the dust?”
Distantly, Eda wondered if Ileem saw her too, or if he was still kneeling in prayer at the side of the pool, unaware that Eda’s had been answered.
“You have a request,” the goddess said gently. “Speak. I will hear it.”
Eda scrambled to find her tongue. “I—my friend is sick. I think she’s dying, and—it’s not a natural illness.”
“You seek a cure.”
Eda nodded.
The goddess—Raiva—touched Eda’s forehead, and Eda felt a sudden intense heat boring into her skull. It burned and burned; she thought it would split her apart. Raiva drew her hand back again, and the pain was gone.
Eda took a sharp breath.
The goddess frowned. “We have met before.”
“We have not, my lady.”
“But I know you. You are gods-touched.” Raiva circled her, her white robe leaving a trail in the dust. “You bear my mark.” Raiva turned to Ileem, who was indeed still kneeling by the pool, oblivious to her presence. “As your friend bears his.”
For a moment, Eda stared at Ileem’s shoulders and had the feeling that she had strayed somehow into the realm of the gods, that he would not see Raiva even if he lifted his head. “He made a vow to Tuer. I made a deal with Tuer.”
“A deal you do not honor.”
“I’m trying,” said Eda desperately. “I just need more time to build the temple, time Niren doesn’t have, and I never thought it would really mean her life. It can’t. I won’t let it.”
